Aftermath
by BurstingAtTheSeams
Summary: Sequel to 'Fallout'. It's been four months since their ordeal, and Ariadne and Arthur are trying to settle down to a relatively 'normal' life. Will they manage it, or will their past exploits catch up with them once again? Rated T for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

'What do you think, Miss Baker?'

It took a few seconds for her to realise that the question was being directed at her. She blinked a few times, looked around at the men and women sitting around the large conference table, and tried desperately to remember what they were talking about.

'Um ... ' was all she managed.

'I think the expansion is a terrible idea,' one woman – a stout, grey-haired lady in her fifties, judging by the wrinkles – cut in. 'We need to consolidate the rest of the business first before we even think about branching out. It would be an economical disaster.'

She caught sight of two of the men as they exchanged a rather sardonic glance with each other. As if to say, 'What could a woman possibly know about all this?'. She felt a sudden stab of protective pride, an urge to stand up for the belittled woman whose name she had no idea of. How dare they presume to mock her – and in turn, the other females in the room – in such a way?

'I completely agree,' she piped up with a pointed glare at the offending male members of the small group. 'We should put the expansion on hold until we are completely sure that our current position is tenable.'

She hadn't the faintest clue what she was saying, but it sounded good just the same. The other people in the room appeared impressed by it, at least. She supposed that was _something_.

'But Miss Baker – '

The blonde man stopped abruptly, interrupted by a loud explosion from directly beneath them. Everyone jumped and stared around the room, their eyes near-bulging from their sockets.

'What the hell?'

And that was when it came back to her.

This was a job. Their latest one. It wasn't real.

Which meant the people weren't real, either. _Projections._

That explained why she hadn't been able to remember how she had got there.

_The bomb ... a distraction,_ she recalled with relief. _But it went off early. What on earth is he up to?_

But if this was a job, why had she been dropped right in the middle of it?

Every possibility imaginable raced through her mind. A dream within a dream – a kidnapping, someone else hooking her up to extract some precious information from her. But who? And why?

She froze as she realised the other people in the room were now staring at her, six pairs of eyes locked on hers. Unwavering. Relentless. _Dangerous._

She tried to turn, to run, but her legs felt like lead. Weighted down to the floor. Unable to move.

She tried to scream, to call out to him, but her throat was dry. All that emerged was a strangled, muffled croak.

She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter; that being killed in a dream wasn't a bad thing. Not necessarily. But the thought still didn't stop the blood in her veins from running cold as the six automatons advanced on her, hands outstretched.

This was it.

Game over.

**A/N: Hallo all! Yes, it's me again, with a very short beginning to the sequel to 'Fallout'. I'll say now that it will be updated VERY slowly due to the time constraints on me (though the course is going really well so far, thankfully!), but I just really felt like writing again. I thoroughly enjoyed the last one, and if I get into this one as well it'll give me something else to do other than lesson planning/marking/playing the odd video game in my spare time. :)**

**I was going to make this chapter longer, but figured here was a good place to leave it. Keep you wanting more as usual, eh? ;) Well, hopefully. **

**So how's the start to it, huh? All will become clearer in the next chapter, I promise. Until then, welcome to the story and I hope you all enjoy it! (Oh, and no, I don't own Inception. But I already have the special edition blu-ray on order, and it should be delivered in a couple of weeks or so! Wahay!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

She had felt pain before, but this was something else. Being stabbed and shot she could just about handle – they had practiced it numerous times, after all – but beaten by a vicious, angry mob was new.

It was slow, tortuously so. The pain from repeated blows to her arms, legs, chest and head were almost too much to bear. She squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to block it out, to no avail.

Perhaps the oddest thing about the whole situation was the silence. Apart from the sounds of fists meeting flesh-encased bone and the odd grunt from her assailants, there was nothing. She opened her mouth to scream, to call out his name, but again found her throat constricted. The words just would not come.

So she tried to curl herself up into a ball and wait until it was all over.

It wouldn't be long. Already she could feel herself slipping away. Away from the bright lights of the conference room and into darkness. Blissful, welcome darkness ...

But it was not to be.

Her eyes snapped open at the realisation that something was terribly wrong. Apart from the bloodthirsty gang of suits still battering her, that was.

A vital piece of information she could not quite grasp.

_Before I went under ... what did he say to me?_

An exception for this job.

_A dream within a dream._

Sedation ...

She found her voice at last, her screams piercing the air as she kicked and bit her attackers. But their relentless assault continued. Uninterrupted, as though she weren't lashing out at them with the last shred of force she could muster.

It was too late. Why hadn't she been able to remember earlier? He would have briefed her on the job. He always did.

So where was he now?

Why wasn't he coming to her rescue as he had promised?

He had said he would never let another person harm her. He had told her that the first night they –

The thought vanished along with her consciousness.

Darkness enveloped her once more.

Familiar.

Frightening.

Altogether inevitable.

**-/-**

She opened her eyes to the sound of water. Her clothes were soaked through, every strand of her hair clinging to her face and neck, sending shivers shooting down her spine. She could taste the salt from the sea, could feel it burning her tongue, the back of her throat.

She tried to focus on her surroundings, staggering against the force of the waves as they crashed over her. The sight of the grey crumbling buildings almost sent her toppling to her knees.

_No ... how can this be? It can't be happening, not again._

Surely ... surely he wouldn't have risked this? Not after last time, when she had almost ...

She shook her head against the pulsing thought, the fear that gnawed at the inside of her skull, in the pit of her stomach. She was missing something. She _had _to be.

But what?

She smothered the whimpers, the tears, and forced herself towards the shoreline. She tried to ignore the all-too-familiar city that reared up before her and concentrated instead on the bench just beyond the beach.

Someone was sitting there. Waiting for her?

_It's got to be ..._

The prospect gave her renewed impetus; she struggled on through the heavy water until she could feel the wet sand crunching beneath her feet. Her eyes lit up as she began to half-jog towards the figure, his dark suit a comfort to her addled mind.

She opened her mouth to call out to him, but the words died in her throat.

_His _hair wasn't dark, but blonde.

_His _suit wasn't three-piece, but two.

_His _eyes weren't warm, friendly, welcoming, but cold, deadly, full of malice.

A person she would recognise anywhere, at any time. Even in her dreams ...

_Denley._

The man took a step forwards, grinning down at her, his hands clenched into fists by his side. The curve of his mouth slipped, his lips parted as he mouthed her name.

His voice froze her blood faster than liquid mercury.

'Welcome home, Ariadne.'

**A/N: Oh dear, it appears I'm already up to my old tricks here! And there I was promising that everything would become clearer in this chapter. I just can't help myself, it seems!**

**Well, maybe next chapter then ... ahem. Yes, definitely next chapter. Sorry if it seems ... familiar, somewhat, but there is a reason. :) And that is all I shall say for now!**

**Except, when I said that this would be updated very slowly, I meant by my own standards. As in, not one chapter every night. Today is an exception as I didn't have a whole lot of work to do from school, but other nights will be different. I'll get them up as and when I can though.**

**EDIT: Does anyone know how to put the line breaks in? I did the Shift+Enter thing, but it didn't stick. Hmm.**


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

Arthur was woken by a scream that ripped through his peaceful slumber and pierced his eardrums. He scrambled into a sitting position on the bed and fumbled for the bedside light.

_Ariadne._

He stared down at the figure lying next to him, thrashing about under the duvet. His heart ached at the sobs that resonated around the otherwise silent room. Tentatively at first, he reached down and touched her bare shoulder. Her skin was slick with perspiration, her hairline matted with moisture. Tears streaked her flushed cheeks; Arthur could feel them burning beneath his fingers as he ran them lightly over her jaw line.

Enough was enough, he decided. He couldn't – he _wouldn't _– watch her suffer any longer.

'Ariadne,' he whispered, leaning closer to her ear. 'Ariadne, wake up.'

He shook her gently, his fingers grasping her cool shoulder. Still she writhed under the bedclothes, seemingly dead to the outside world. Outside her own dreams, at least.

'Ariadne, wake up,' Arthur insisted, his voice louder now, firmer. 'Wake up!'

He was about place his other hand on her right shoulder when her eyes suddenly snapped open, staring up at him through a film of wild fear he had only ever seen once before: when Denley had placed a gun to her head during their last ill-fated dream together. He breathed a small sigh of relief despite the situation.

'Thank God,' he muttered, helping her to sit up.

He watched as Ariadne's eyes flickered around the room, seemingly taking in every detail of her new surroundings. Her fingers closed around his in a vice-like grip, so tight he thought the circulation might be cut off at any minute.

' ... Arthur?'

Her voice was soft, almost ... small. Pitiful. Nothing like the brash, self-confident one he was used to hearing.

'I'm here,' he murmured. Her eyes slid over to his, no doubt taking in his dishevelled hair, the grim set of his mouth. 'They're getting worse.'

It was a statement, not a question. The terrible nightmares that had abruptly plagued her usually peaceful sleep within the last month or so – that he still had not been able to cure despite his valiant, non-stop efforts. He was at a loss to explain why they had suddenly started, nearly four weeks after their ordeal with Denley and Browning. Everything had seemed fine – during the two weeks they had spent helping Dom settle into his new home, the time it took for them to return to France and pick up the pieces of her old life at university. Until one night ...

'H-he ... I just can't ... '

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Her body shook with the effort it took her to hold them back, something Arthur had tried hard to discourage.

'_If you need to cry, do it,' _he had told her, time and again. _'It's not healthy, bottling up your emotions like this.'_

Wise words from an unexpectedly wise man. Arthur would have smiled at the memory of their mutual friend's pearls of wisdom had the circumstances not been so grave.

' ... so pathetic,' was all Arthur managed to catch as Ariadne buried her face in his shoulder.

'It's _not _pathetic,' he chided her, his brow creased with deep frown. 'It's a very serious and understandable problem. What you went through – nobody, and mean _nobody_, could be expected to come out the other side unscathed.' He paused, waiting for his words to sink in, before continuing. 'What happened this time?'

He didn't miss the brief second in which her body stiffened, nor the hesitation in her voice as she answered.

'Same as before, pretty much. I realise I'm in a dream halfway through, then something alerts the projections to the fact that I'm an intruder, and they start attacking me. Then I end up in Limbo.'

'And then?'

' ... that's it. Then you woke me up.'

Arthur was by no means stupid. He didn't get to be the best Point Man in the business (_Ex-best Point Man_, he reminded himself) by lacking in intelligence and intuition. Ariadne was hiding something – or some _things _– from him, for whatever reason she saw fit. It upset him to think that she couldn't confide everything in him just yet, but he knew better than to push her. She would tell him eventually. He had to believe that.

Until that day, he would work with what little information she did give him and try to help her in any way that he could.

'We'll figure it out,' he said softly, clutching her more tightly to him. 'I promise.'

He felt her smile against his chest. '_Another _promise? You should be careful, you know. One day you'll make one you can't keep.'

Despite the humour in her voice, Arthur could detect the hint of sorrow, of doubt that lingered. It only made him more determined to prove her wrong – or himself right, whichever felt better.

He held her in his arms for a long time that night, waiting until the pounding of her heart against his chest died down to its normal pace before turning off his bedside lamp and lying back down. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her flush against him, and lay awake until he could hear the rhythmic breathing that told him she was asleep once more.

They may have endured the hardest week – perhaps even years – of their life only two months ago, but somehow Arthur knew.

Their real troubles were only just beginning.

**A/N: Such a corny chapter, I know! Not only the 'it was all a dream' (aren't they all with Inception? :P), but the rest of it, too. Cheesiness has never been my forte, but I felt like adding it just this once. :)**

**My chapters are shorter for now as I don't have a hell of a lot of time - this one in particular has not had the post-writing treatment I would usually give my chapters, so I apologise now if there are any typos etc. Hopefully not!**

**I'm still trying to work out the particulars of where this is going, but boy does it just feel good to be writing again. Hopefully you'll all enjoy reading it, too. Until the next time - 'night everyone, and happy reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

Ariadne lay awake long after Arthur had fallen asleep again. She knew from experience that he would only be satisfied once he heard her deep breathing, so she feigned it. She always did. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for his comfort – indeed, she didn't think she would able to make it through the long days without it – but she didn't want to worry him any more than was necessary. He had spent far too long looking out for her over the last few months, and now it was time for her to do the same.

She gently slid Arthur's arm from around her waist and slipped out of the bed, tiptoeing her way to the tiny bathroom in her cramped student's apartment. It was barely big enough for one person, but Arthur had insisted on abandoning his own large rented apartment to stay with her once the nightmares had started. He had initially tried to convince her to move into his place instead (temporarily, of course), but she had become too attached to her sardine-can of an apartment to change. As she stumbled over a pair of Arthur's shoes and banged her kneecap on the bathroom doorframe – gritting her teeth and biting back the curse that hovered on her lips at the same time – she started to wonder whether she should have taken up his offer, after all.

Pushing the door closed as softly as she could, Ariadne turned on the small light over the bathroom mirror and stared back at her own haggard reflection. The lack of sleep over the past couple of weeks told: the bags under her eyes darkened by the day; her usually rosy cheeks were now ashen, almost sickly-looking. She had noticed the worried glances Arthur had been shooting her every day. Truth be told, she was surprised he hadn't said anything yet. Once he found out about the nightmares that were plaguing her – that hadn't taken long, what with the ear-splitting screams that woke him up each and every night – she had expected him to insist on her visiting someone, a psychiatrist perhaps, to get them sorted out. Then again, what could she say to them? She could hardly explain the root cause without going into detail about dream-sharing and the fact that they were very nearly killed by one of the world's leading businessmen and his criminal associate. And without doing that, what was the point? They would have nothing to work with; no information to analyse, no solution to think up.

No, she was just going to have to see them through and sort it out herself. With Arthur's help, of course. What little he could give without knowing the full extent of the dreams ...

Ariadne couldn't fully explain – even to herself – why she was holding back from him; why she didn't dare tell him that he was usually the reason for the projections' sudden awareness of her foreign nature in the dreams. That she screamed, _begged _for him to save her every time. That every time, he was nowhere to be seen. _Not even his dream-world double, _she thought sadly. How strange it was, that things had changed so much in so short a space of time. Was it that her subconscious realised that she had the real thing now, and so no longer needed a fake alternative? If that was the case, why didn't Arthur turn up in her nightmares to save her, as he would in real life? What was she missing?

She breathed a frustrated, exhausted sigh and slumped down onto the lid of the toilet. Her jagged, bitten fingernails dug into the flesh as she dragged her hands down the length of her face. _Come on Ari, get a grip on yourself. _She wished she could see an end in sight, a faint glimmer of hope that she wouldn't have to suffer for too much longer. The only thing she could do was pray that the dreams stopped as suddenly as they had started. That was realistic, right? Or at the very least, a slim possibility? For now, there was nothing else.

A faint knock on the door made her jump, ripping her away from her desperate thoughts. She stood up as Arthur slipped into the room, his calm exterior betrayed only by the small furrow in his brow.

'The bed got too cold,' he said with a grimace.

_Trust Arthur to notice the little things, _Ariadne thought with a smile.

'Sorry. Must have been that hot chocolate I drunk before going to sleep.'

She flushed the toilet to emphasise her point and quickly washed her hands in the sink. She could almost feel Arthur's eyes boring into the back of her head as she deliberately avoided looking in the mirror. He wasn't stupid; he knew she was lying to him, but he refrained from saying so. She hated herself for doing it, but she couldn't see any other way. Telling him the truth would only lead to more questions about exactly what happened in her dreams, and that was something she just could not deal with right then. She would tell him – eventually – when she felt ready to confront the subsequent guilt and upset that Arthur would surely suffer.

'Ari ... '

This time she did look up at him. The soft, almost pained way he whispered her name compelled her to. His eyes roved over her face, taking in each minute alteration that had occurred over the past two weeks.

'I'm fine, Arthur. Honestly. I just need to get some more sleep.'

'So you can be woken up by the nightmares again?' He shook his head. 'You think I don't lie awake at night listening to your sobs, watching you thrash about in the bed? Ari, I _know _there's something you're not telling me about all this. I just ... I want to help you get past this, whatever it is. You know I'd do anything for you, right?'

The flicker of doubt that passed over his face made her stomach squirm. She felt so incredibly selfish at that moment, listening to his confused, almost despairing entreaty. But she knew if she told him everything, it would only hurt him more. It was for his sake, really. Of course it was ...

'Of course I do,' she replied, reaching out to take hold of his hands in hers. 'I think you've already proven _that_,' she added with a small smile.

'Then why can't you trust me enough to tell me what's really going on?'

'It's ... not as simple as that.' She sighed again and shook her head. 'But I promise, as soon as I can, I _will _tell you. Once _I _know what's going on. Until then, just ... please, let me work this out by myself.'

Although he nodded his agreement, she could tell he wasn't convinced. As he took a step back, pulling his hands from her grasp, she felt as though he were withdrawing more than his physical contact. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it made her heart ache all the same.

_What a filthy hypocrite you are, _a small voice in her head sneered. _Happily barging into someone else's dreams, rummaging through someone _else's _personal baggage, but too cowardly, too _proud_ to admit when you need the same treatment. You're pathetic._

But it wasn't like that. Cobb was different. _His _personal baggage would have jeopardised the entire operation back then. Hers was ... a private matter.

_Sure. Dress it up like that if it makes you feel better._

God, if only Arthur could hear her thoughts now. He would think she was crazy and ditch her on the spot, she was sure.

No, he wouldn't. She wasn't giving him enough credit. He had already proven a hundred times over the lengths he would go to for her. And _this _was how she repaid him ...

'Well, goodnight then,' Arthur murmured, a rare note of defeat lacing his tone.

On an impulse that surprised even her, Ariadne launched herself forwards and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him tight enough to crush the very air from his lungs. He stumbled a little under the force of her embrace before steadying himself and placing his own hands on her back.

'Ari, what – '

'I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry. I need you so much right now, so ... please, don't leave me.'

Arthur extracted himself from her grip and stood back to peer at her face. 'What on earth makes you think I'd do that? After everything we've been through? I didn't go to Limbo and back just to abandon you once we got back to the surface.'

She hated that her eyes began to sting with the salty tears she was trying hard to hold back. 'I know, but I'm behaving like such a selfish cow right now. _I'd_ leave me if I were you.'

The soft chuckled that rumbled in Arthur's chest surprised her. He raised his hand to cup her cheek and caressed the pale skin.

'You're lucky I'm not you then. It's going to take a lot more than you hiding a few things from me to make me change my mind about us. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the foreseeable future.'

Ariadne was far too relieved to wonder where the hell the old, bold and obstinate Architect had gone. She had long ago accepted that circumstances had changed her – for the worse, it seemed – and that it would take a while for her to get back to the way things were. If she ever could, that was. But playing the damsel-in-distress was something she would have balked at, if she had had the presence of mind to do so.

'Can I also apologise for being such a pathetic idiot then?' she grumbled.

'Only if you make it up to me somehow.'

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at him, wondering whether she had only imagined the playful lilt to his voice. Judging by the mischievous glint in his eyes that accompanied it, she would say not. Her mind told her that this was not the appropriate time for such things, but her heart quashed such logical thinking and urged her to go for it. _Anything_ to distract her thoughts from other, more pressing worries.

'Oh? And just what did you have in mind?' she asked, cocking one eyebrow at him.

'Let's just say, I know a good way to keep you from sleeping for a little while.'

She could already feel the desperate anticipation – the sudden, insatiable _longing _– building in her chest before Arthur wrapped his arms around her again and whipped her feet off the floor. She pushed all thoughts of her current predicament from her mind and gave in to the need for his comfort and reassurance. Given the urgency with which his lips found hers, the way his hands clutched her tightly to him, she would guess he was feeling much the same way.

If she couldn't sleep, she may as well do the next best thing. For the next few hours at least, her mind would be filled only with thoughts of the man she had gradually come to rely on, to love with all her heart.

**A/N: Well now, that turned out more angst-y than I had anticipated! I suppose it's these kinds of chapters when it would be helpful to have read 'Fallout' (if any of you faithful readers haven't yet, that is). Never mind.**

**Once again, this hasn't had the once-over I would usually give my chapters as it's far too late for me to do so. I shouldn't even have been writing this given that I have to be up at 5.45am every morning, but oh well! Once I get going, it seems there's no stopping me ...**

**As you can probably tell, I'm doing a little experimenting with this story. I do have an idea of where it's going, but for now want to explore the A/A relationship further before ploughing on with the actual plot. I hope it's passable regardless. Toodles for now, and see you ... well, whenever, for the next chapter. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

Arthur got up with Ariadne the next morning, despite the fact that she had to go to university and he had ... well, nothing. Never one to favour his bed over the opportunity to get up and make the most of the day, he shrugged into his dressing gown and padded out to the poky kitchen to get breakfast started whilst Ariadne refreshed herself with a quick shower.

The aroma of bacon and eggs eventually brought her to his side, her hair still sodden and distinctly smelling of her sandalwood and jasmine shampoo. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he stood at the cooker, and made a show of inhaling the enticing scent.

'You really have to stop spoiling me with these breakfasts,' she scolded playfully. 'Or is this some kind of subtle way to tell me I'm too skinny?'

Arthur chuckled at her typically wry humour and shook his head. 'No such nefarious schemes have entered my head. It's not like I've got anything else to do in the mornings, so I may as well save you some time. And stop the food in the fridge from going off, of course.'

'Oh, of course,' Ariadne agreed, her chin bobbing up and down on his shoulder as she nodded. 'How silly of me to suspect otherwise.'

She extricated her arms from around his torso and took a step back; Arthur could tell that she was studying him from behind, though for what purpose, he wasn't sure. It was clear from the sudden heavy silence in the room, however, that she was weighing up whatever she wanted to say next.

'So, what are you going to do whilst I'm hard at work trying to catch up with my last semester?' she asked, her tone casual enough, although Arthur wasn't deceived by it.

He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the frying pan. 'Same as usual, I suppose. Have a wander around town, get a coffee ... '

_Same old, _he thought, mentally sighing at the tedium that awaited him until Ariadne arrived home late in the afternoon. At first he had been glad of a complete break from work, knowing that he was free to do as he wished without having to worry that he would suddenly get a call from Dom about another job he had lined up. But the novelty had soon worn off, leaving nothing but boredom in its wake. Arthur had never considered himself to be a particularly active person outside of his work, but this life had given him some interesting insights into his own personality; he had recently discovered that, despite his unhealthy passion for the stimulant, there was only so much coffee he could take before he began to balk at the sight and smell of the russet-coloured liquid.

'Sounds good,' Ariadne replied.

Arthur nodded, only partially conscious of the action. He hadn't, of course, told Ariadne how he felt, that he yearned for something a little more ... exciting. He hadn't let her know about the cravings he endured, day after day, the desire to experience just _one _more dream ...

He was almost envious of the fact that she could still dream – even if they _were _horrific nightmares. It had to be better than the emptiness he suffered every goddamn night of his life. That was, _if _he could get to sleep at all. He had thought the sleepless nights were behind him; indeed, they had seemed to be so after the first night he had shared a bed with Ariadne, all those weeks ago in the Bellagio Hotel. But they had soon come back with a vengeance, haunting him, Ariadne's own fitful dreams doing nothing to console him. Too often had he lain awake, listening to her struggles, until the inevitable scream wrenched him from his stupor in a frantic bid to help her. It always ended the same way, whether he was awake or not – the helpless entreaties, the useless attempts at solace. Last night had been one of many methods he had tried to relieve her of the pain she went through. But it had also been an escape for him, albeit only for a couple of hours. Although he had fallen asleep afterwards, satisfied and content, the morning always brought with it that same sense of loss, the empty feeling that came with knowing he had not been able to dream once more.

He had known it would be hard to adjust to a completely new life, abandoning shared-dreaming the old-fashioned, 'cold turkey' way. But he had not anticipated it to be quite _this _difficult. The lack of any kind of dreaming at all he could just about live with, eventually, given time and will power. It was the _ennui _that accompanied his days now that surprised him more.

'Arthur, I think the eggs are done.'

Ariadne's voice cut into his thoughts like a knife. He started and blinked in an attempt to focus his attention on the task at hand. Sure enough, the yolk on the eggs had gone hard, the bacon shrivelled to half its normal size.

'Great,' he muttered, rolling his eyes as he slapped the food onto separate plates. 'Sorry, it won't be as good as usual.'

He noticed the small frown that passed over Ariadne's features as she watched him dish the breakfast up, but chose to ignore it. He was in no mood for questioning this morning.

Ariadne, it seemed, had other ideas. 'Arthur, are you all right?' she asked as picked up one of the plates. 'You seem a bit ... distracted. Is something bothering you?'

'No, I'm fine,' he replied, perhaps a little too quickly. Ariadne raised her eyebrows at him, clearly not convinced. 'Really, it's nothing. I've just got a few things on my mind.'

If she could keep her secrets from him, who was to say he couldn't have one or two of his own? Like her, he needed time to figure things out on his own before burdening her with his troubles. She had enough to deal with without sharing his, too.

'Okay.'

Arthur gazed after her as she walked into the living room carrying her plate. 'Okay' – that was it? Where was the usual interrogation, the full Spanish Inquisition into his thoughts and feelings? Ariadne wasn't one to back down so easily. Something definitely wasn't right.

_Perhaps she's taken her own words to heart, _he mused. Perhaps she was allowing him his own space to sort things out, just as she had asked of him. It was quite possible.

He followed after her with his own breakfast, vowing to drop the subject in his own mind – at least for now. There was no point dwelling on yet _another _issue, not on top of everything else.

'What's on the agenda for today?' he asked, just in case she decided to change her mind and question him further. 'Continuing with the same project for Miles?'

'Pretty much. I've nearly finished it, just got to tighten things up before I submit it.'

Arthur flicked his gaze from Ariadne to his plate and back again, all the while juggling the porcelain on his knees at the same time as scrutinising his girlfriend's face. Despite the harrowing events of the previous night – at least the first part of it – she showed no sign of discomfort. Apparently she was getting better at concealing her emotions in front of him. _I've obviously rubbed off on her, _he thought wryly. What he would give for a chance to look into her mind, to see just what was going on in her head during the nightmares. He _had _to find out the cause of them, why they had suddenly started after weeks of peace. Nothing had beaten him before. Through sheer determination and perseverance he had managed to overcome any challenge since ... well, since before he could remember; he wasn't about to lose that record. Not to something he should be able to deal with.

The idea flashed across his mind, searing his brain with the image, so forcefully he could not shake it. It was absurd – a product of his cravings and nothing more. And yet ...

'That was lovely, thank you,' Ariadne said as she stood up, stooping to peck him on the cheek.

Arthur gave her a sceptical look. 'It was god-awful, and you know it. You're just too polite to say so.'

'Me, polite?' she replied with a snort. 'Say things like that and I'll start to wonder if you know me at all.'

With a grin she wandered off to the kitchen. Arthur could hear the sound of running water as she set about washing up. He stayed on the couch, oblivious to the emptiness of his own plate as he stared at the wall opposite, his eyes slipping out of focus as he considered his half-formed, harebrained thought.

Within minutes Ariadne was back, blue duffel bag slung over a now coat-clad shoulder. It took Arthur a few seconds to realise she was standing in front of him, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence.

'I'll be done about four-ish,' she said as he stood up to pull her into a brief embrace. 'You fancy getting something to eat afterwards?'

'Sure, sounds good.'

'Okay, see you then. Have a good day!' she called over her shoulder as she hurried out of the front door.'

'You too ... ' Arthur muttered to empty room.

He knew he should have a shower, get changed, and get out of the tiny flat before he went crazy.

Instead, he dropped back onto the couch and leant his elbows on his knees, resuming his earlier contemplations. It was ridiculous even considering such a scheme, and yet he could not rid himself of the thought. It was growing steadily in his mind, demanding to be respected. _An idea is like a parasite ..._

And like a parasite, once it found a home, it clung on with all its might and refused to go away.

**A/N: Sorry this one has taken so long to upload! I've been bogged down with teacher-y things and just haven't had the energy to finish the chapter until tonight.**

**I have a good idea of _where _this is going, I'm just not sure on how it's coming out right now. Could be partly to do with present circumstances and the fact that it feels quite different to 'Fallout' (which I suppose is good - wouldn't want it to be totally the same, after all!), but we'll see how it goes.**

**Oh, and as a side-note - I've decided to change the summary slightly so that it's now 4 months since the last story, not 2. It felt too short a space of time for reasons I'm not entirely sure of myself, but there we go. Hope you all enjoy this chapter, and see you next time for the subsequent instalment! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yes, it's me again! Gosh, it's been _months_ since I was able to publish the last chapter. I'm SO sorry for all of you who have been waiting patiently for this to continue, but my workload has just been crazy since before Christmas - and it's only getting harder! I just haven't been able to stop thinking about how I've neglected this story, and my faithful readers, so finally sat down to continue it. I apologise if it seems a bit drab or incongruous with the previous chapters, but as it's been so long it's hard to get back into the mindset I was in when I started. Still, hopefully it'll return as I very gradually add more chapters. I promise I'll try not to leave it so long between chapters this time!**

**6.**

He sat in the same café he had frequented every day for the past 4 months, since they had first moved to Paris together. He ordered the same drink (coffee, black, no sugar, _merci beaucoup_), sat at the same table, and listened to the same songs on the radio. He nodded to the same waitress to signal that his cup was empty and, yes, he would like just _one _refill before he wandered the all-too-familiar streets for the best part of the day. Sometimes he would take in the tourist sites (he spent a lot of the time at the Notre Dame, relishing its tranquil, reverent atmosphere), other times he would simply sit on a bench in the local park, feeding the ducks with a fresh loaf of bread and watching the world pass him by.

Arthur liked routine; to-do lists, check lists – in fact, _any _kind of lists – were his bread and butter. But _this _... a mundane, carefree, _risk_-free daily schedule? It was tedious to say the least. And Arthur didn't cope well with tedium of any kind.

Since leaving school, he had always had something to do, something to preoccupy his mind, from his job in the army to Extraction. High-powered, stressful jobs they may be, but everyone knew he thrived under pressure. It stimulated his mind, brought the best out of him. He enjoyed rising to the challenge. It was what had drawn him into Extraction in the first place – that, and it was such an exciting new prospect in the world of psychology and technology. The money was simply a hefty bonus, an added incentive.

Ariadne was constantly telling him to get another job, to give him something to 'fill' his days with. But he didn't want to _fill _them with just anything, a boring nine-to-five office job that anybody with half a brain-cell could do. He wanted something that tested him, pushed him to his limits and beyond.

It was for this reason he had begun to wonder whether he had made the right decision in giving up Extraction for good. At the time it had seemed logical, the only choice open to him after everything that had happened. He hadn't been able to bear the thought of risking both of their lives and sanity again by venturing into such dangerous, uncharted territory (for every dream was both). Now he wished he had only taken a hiatus from it, a sabbatical as it would be called in the world of 'real' work.

He hadn't dared to confide his feelings in Ariadne, fearful of her reaction. They had not spoken of Extraction, or indeed Inception, since their ordeal months before. Yet he often wondered whether she missed it just as much.

_Probably not_, he thought, _considering she relives the horrors almost every night now._

And that notion, right there, was what made him feel all the more guilty. She was suffering because of what they had been through, more than he could ever know, and yet he _still _yearned for the time when Dreaming was familiar, a comfort to break up the otherwise lonely, empty days.

Arthur breathed out a frustrated sigh and hurled the last chunk of bread into the pond, not even waiting to watch the various birds jostling each other to get at it. _Things can never just be simple, can they?_ It was a silly question to ask, for he already knew the answer.

_Nothing _was simple where Dreaming was concerned. It had once been a sweet conundrum, giving him something new to consider with each fresh job application they received. Now it was nothing more than a pain, a metaphorical thorn in his side. He was starting to fear that, sooner or later, it would dig in too deep, become something that he just could not ignore.

Arthur was snapped out of his familiar misery by the sound of his phone ringing in his trouser pocket. He frowned; nobody messaged him nowadays, unless it was Ariadne calling to ask him to pick up some food on his way home, yet she would be in class now (he had memorised her timetable early on, for no other reason than because he could and had nothing else to do). He glanced at the screen to read the message, his eyebrows moving in reverse as he raised them in surprise. It read:

_**I'm in town for a few days, you free for a quick cuppa? I've got a surprise for you, something I think you'll like.**_

Arthur hesitated, his finger hovering over the 'Reply' button, before he quickly typed in his own message:

_**Sure, meet me at the Café Orange in twenty minutes. It's round the corner to Ariadne's flat.**_

He stared at the screen until the words 'Message sent' popped up, then slipped the phone back in his pocket. He was completely oblivious to the various cyclists, dog-walkers and families that passed by, his mind occupied with just one thought now. He had never been too fond of surprises (he always liked to be over-prepared for _everything_), yet he couldn't help the tiny bubble of curiosity and ... excitement that welled up in the pit of his stomach. _Anything to break the tedium is fine by me._

With the prospect of his visitor and the 'surprise' before him, he quickened his pace and strode down the pathway towards one of the park's many exits.


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

Arthur quickened his pace as he neared the café, eager to meet with Paris's latest tourist. The message had come out of the blue, but it was not unwelcome. Far from it, in fact. It was the best piece of news he had received in a while. It would be good to see a friendly face around town for once.

As he rounded the corner to the café, he caught sight of a familiar crop of dark blonde hair accompanied by a garish red shirt underneath a dark blue suit. He couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto his face as he approached the man sitting alone with a cup of coffee.

'I thought tea would be more to your liking,' Arthur smirked as he took the seat opposite.

'Please,' his friend scoffed. 'Just because your American taste buds can't tell the difference between Earl Grey and a cup of cold piss, doesn't mean we're all as ignorant. You should know by now I only order coffee outside of ol' Blighty.'

'Ah, true British wit.'

'You can't beat it.'

Arthur shook his head and beckoned the waitress over, who frowned as she awaited his order, clearly remembering him from earlier in the day. _As though I'm not her most regular customer as it is..._

'Un café latté, s'il vous plait,' he said, his French bearing only the smallest trace of an American accent.

The woman nodded and hurried off to sort out his drink as Arthur turned to find Eames watching him over the rim of his cup. He had a look in his eye that Arthur knew well – the one that betrayed his next wisecrack.

'Come on then, out with it,' Arthur prompted.

Eames simply smiled. 'I wasn't going to say anything.' Arthur's scepticism must have shown on his face, for the Forger shrugged. 'Oh okay, so I was. But I won't. I'll keep you guessing instead. It's _so _much more fun that way.'

Arthur sighed. _Some _things, it seemed, never changed. Yet for once he was glad of Eames's ridiculous quirks; perhaps it would take his mind off other, even more frustrating issues. Except, of course, that it wouldn't so long as he kept thinking about it...

_I'm going around in circles,_ he thought irritably. _Something's got to give sooner or later._

'Spill.'

'What?'

Arthur focused his attention back on Eames, wondering whether he had missed a part of the conversation somewhere along the line. The Forger waited until the waitress had handed Arthur his latté and wandered off to take somebody else's order before replying.

'Something's clearly bothering you,' he said as he drained the last of his coffee. 'I don't need to go into your mind to see _that_.'

Arthur should have seen it coming. If there was one thing Eames was good at – besides getting on his nerves most days – it was reading people's emotions, gauging their feelings based on the nuances in their body language. It was a gift, or so he liked to say.

'So you won't tell me whatever it was you were going to say, but I've got to spill the beans on my innermost thoughts?' Arthur lifted his cup to his mouth, taking care to sip it slowly as he got his thoughts in order. 'Besides, what makes you think there's something wrong?'

_Bad move, _he realised as Eames cocked one eyebrow at him, clearly readying a long spiel on just how good a Forger he was and how Arthur should know better than to question his judgements.

'Are you seriously going to take that line with me?' Eames shook his head. 'Do you not remember our conversation so many moons ago in the depths of dreamland on the intricacies of my job?'

How could he forget? It may have seemed like years ago to Eames, but for Arthur it was though it had happened yesterday – their decades-long search through Limbo, praying that Ariadne was not lost to them forever within the bowels of its raw, infinite subconscious. For her, of course, it was all too real. She relived it every night without fail. Had done for the past few weeks...

'Arthur, I think I know you well enough by now to see when something's up, even without being the best bloody Forger in the business. You don't spend half a lifetime with someone and not get _that_.'

Arthur breathed out a long sigh, knowing that there was no point in delaying the inevitable. After all, was that not why he had been so eager to meet his old friend? He could kid himself that it was to take his mind _off _his current problems, but deep down inside, was it not so that he could relieve himself of them? _A problem shared..._

'It's Ariadne, isn't it?' Arthur snapped his eyes up to look at the other man, narrowing them ever so slightly. 'I've never seen anything work you up so much as when it concerns her.'

He hesitated, wondering how far he should go, how much he should reveal. Eames was trustworthy, of that there was no doubt. He was also a good friend to them both. But would Ariadne appreciate such a private problem being discussed over afternoon coffee in the middle of a busy street with someone neither one had seen in nearly four months?

'Don't tell me you're having problems...you know? In _that _department?'

Arthur spluttered into his cup, nearly choking on the hot liquid as he glared at his friend. 'For God's sake, will you keep your voice down?' he hissed. 'It's bad enough we're discussing this in public without you cracking stupid jokes like that.'

Again the Brit shrugged. 'Hey, I was being serious. It can happen. Not that I would know _personally_, of course.'

Arthur gripped the handle of his cup far tighter than he had intended, his knuckles turning white with the effort. If he had somehow forgotten the ease with which the Forger could wind him up, he was certainly being reminded of it now.

'No, that's _not _the problem, thank you very much,' he muttered.

'Good to hear it,' Eames replied with a quick grin. 'I never had any doubt about it, really.' He sat back in his chair, his hands resting behind his head as he studied Arthur for a few moments. 'So, what's _really _up then? If you don't want me to assume it's _that_, you'd better tell me quickly.'

_This is getting ridiculous. _He was beginning to wonder whether it had been a good idea to meet, after all. _A problem shared is a problem halved ... _but was it really?

'Okay, fine,' he sighed. 'Yes, it _is _Ariadne. She's ... not been coping too well since ...'

He trailed off, unwilling to voice what he was thinking. It was unnecessary anyway; Eames knew precisely what he meant.

'To be expected,' Eames said, stroking his stubbled chin with his hand. 'It was hardest on her, after all.'

'But it's only started recently. The nightmares – waking up in the night screaming, crying – and she won't ... she won't tell me ... '

Again Arthur's voice died in his throat. He hadn't meant to say all of that; the words had tumbled out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. And yet he didn't feel any better for it. _So much for _that _age-old piece of advice._

'What do the nightmares involve?'

'I don't know!' Arthur exclaimed, as quietly as he could so as not to draw attention to himself. 'She just tells me everything's fine, that she'll work it out. She won't let me help her.'

_But I promised ... all those months ago. How can I keep her safe from her own dreams? Unless ..._

'Has she tried a psychiatrist?' Arthur shot him a withering look. 'Okay, bad idea. She wouldn't exactly be able to tell them everything they'd need to know. Something more discrete, then.'

If Arthur had not been so caught up with his own frustrating thoughts, he might have wondered at the ease with which they were now conversing. It was as though not a single day had passed since their time together in Limbo. There was no need to fill in all the details; they could read between each others' lines easily enough. A skill that came with the job, no doubt, but also with a bond of friendship built up over years. Even if they were not _real _years. It still counted.

'You know, there is _one _way we could find out what's going on,' Eames said, his voice barely above a whisper as he leant closer to Arthur across the table. 'But I'm not sure you'll like it.'

'Just tell me.'

At this point Arthur was desperate enough to try whatever methods presented themselves to him. If it would help Ariadne overcome whatever trouble she was having, he would give it a go. He watched as Eames reached down under the table and pulled an all-too-familiar silver briefcase onto the table. Arthur felt his heart skip a beat as he realised his friend's plan. He shook his head, silently disagreeing, unable to voice his disapproval.

'I told you I had a surprise,' Eames said, tapping the side of the PASIV case. 'I thought you might be missing it. Besides, I already have my own. This one's been gathering dust since I last offered it to you.'

'My answer's the same,' Arthur said gruffly. 'We promised ... no more Dreaming. Not after last time. It just ... isn't worth the risk.'

'Are you sure about that? Looks to me like your life has become pretty dull. Even the waitress was surprised to find you here for a second time in one day.'

Again Arthur shook his head as he rubbed his forehead with one hand. He _couldn't_, no matter how badly he wanted to. He would eventually stop missing it, would be able to get over the withdrawal effects he was clearly suffering from. Whether from the Somnacin or the Dreaming itself, he would combat them. For _her _sake.

'Do you have a better plan right now?' Eames asked, hitting Arthur right where he knew it would hurt the most; Arthur said nothing, only fixed his stare on the silver case between them. 'No, I didn't think so.'

'I can't. Not only because I promised myself I wouldn't, but ... it would be betraying her trust. She'll tell me what's up when she's ready. What right have I got to barge into her dreams?'

'What right did _any _of us have? And when has that ever stopped us?'

'It's completely different,' Arthur snapped. 'I won't risk my relationship just to satisfy my own curiosity.'

But it was so much more than that, and they both knew it. The fear that something terrible would happen sooner or later, that she would be forced to relive whatever horrors she was going through again and again never left him. It dwelt side-by-side with his daily tedium, reminding him every day of what they had to put up with. Ariadne might be able to forget about it whilst at college, but he had nothing – nothing to distract him.

'It's too dangerous,' he reasoned, though whether it was to himself or Eames, he was not quite sure. 'It's not something we're used to. Extractions, even Inception, sure. But fixing somebody's subconscious problems? A dream psychiatrist? It's absurd.

'Perhaps not,' Eames muttered, looking around to make sure nobody was listening in before continuing. 'I might know someone who can help. She's brilliant, a proper, legitimate psychiatrist who was hired by the army to help war vets get over their mental trauma and reintegrate into normal life. They trained her in Dreaming so she could get to the heart of their problems. Worked wonders, so they say.' He paused to allow Arthur to take in everything he was saying, if it was even possible. 'I could get her here in two days tops. She doesn't come cheap, but then that's never been a problem. And she's very discrete. Wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone, I promise.'

Arthur frowned as he considered the Forger's words. 'And how exactly do you know this woman?'

The last thing he was expecting was the sad smile that passed over his friend's lips.

'Let's just say, I spent a good deal of time with her a few years back.'

And that was it, not a word more in explanation. Arthur felt it was rather odd – not to mention hypocritical – for Eames not to divulge more, but was respectful enough not to pry. Whatever it had been, it had clearly not ended happily.

'So, what do you say? Are you willing to give it a go, for Ariadne's sake?'

Arthur drained the rest of his coffee and placed the cup back onto the table. He looked around him, at the old lady cycling past on her even older bicycle; at the two students laughing at a nearby table as they sipped their own drinks and conversed in rapid French; and lastly at the silver case still resting between them, the proverbial elephant in the room that he had so far refused to acknowledge. The irony of the last thought was not lost on him.

'I'll think about it,' he muttered.

Eames smiled and nodded his head, sweeping the briefcase off the table as he pulled out a handful of Euros. 'That's all I wanted to hear.'

**A/N: Hello all! So I felt like writing again tonight and ended up with the next chapter. I haven't got time to proofread it, so sorry if there are any errors in it, or if it just plain sucks! It's a little longer than the others - perhaps a little _too _long - but there. I hope it's passable anyway!**

**The idea might not be entirely novel, but it was something that occurred to me from the beginning when I was considering writing a sequel. It'll be almost completely different to 'Fallout' (which is what I wanted anyway) and could flop spectacularly, but here's to hoping otherwise! I'll get the next chapter up when I get some time away from essay writing and lesson planning. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Yes, it's me again with a sporadic appearance! So now my school placements are finished, I just have a mammoth essay to write as well as a couple of other smaller ones before finally becoming a newly-qualified teacher! God, I cannot wait...**

**Just a quick note here to dedicate this to all my Year 11s from my second school who are sitting their GCSEs at the moment (or at least were whilst I was still there), one of whom was reading my stories before I ever stepped foot in the school (very spooky coincidence). If you still are (and you know who you are!) - good luck, don't fret as you'll be perfectly fine. It's nearly over, and you can look forward to A-Levels instead. :) So chin up and keep at it for a little while longer!**

**Now, onto the next chapter. Hopefully it was worth the wait...**

**8.**

Ariadne welcomed the words that signalled the end of yet another lecture. She had found it incredibly difficult to concentrate on much that day, though tried hard to pretend she didn't know why. The dreams were getting worse; she knew that. Every night she inched closer to the thing she feared the most, yet was powerless to stop it, even in her dreams. What was worse, she had caught herself _day_dreaming about it, too; flashes of images seared her vision as she desperately tried to focus on what Miles was saying throughout the hour-and-a-half lecture. Right then, she would do almost anything to make it all go away...

'Ariadne, could I have a word with you, please? It'll only take a moment.'

She nodded at Miles' request, immediately fearing the worst. Clearly he had seen through her crumbling facade of cheerfulness – and knew precisely what was wrong. Or rather, suspected what the cause was.

Miles waited until everyone else had filed out of the lecture theatre before turning his full attention on her. 'I'm not going to beat about the bush here – I'll just ask you straight out: is there something wrong?'

Now was the moment of truth: did she lie, or tell him the problem? If she told him, he would surely have all kinds of questions and pearls of wisdom to bestow upon her, none of them kind nor particularly helpful in her current state. But could she really lie to him?

'That was a stupid question,' he said before she had a chance to answer. 'Of course there's something wrong, and it's quite clear what it has to do with.' He paused, frowning at her as he took off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt. 'I thought you had been coping well with Arthur since – it all happened. But apparently not.'

'No, I'm fine,' Ariadne heard herself say. 'Really. It's nothing.'

'My dear girl, you forget who you're talking to,' the elderly man replied with a sad smile. 'I was doing this long before you were born. Well, perhaps not _quite_ what you've done, but still – I can recognise the signs easily enough.'

Ariadne heaved a sigh and sat down on the step behind her. She was instantly – and unpleasantly – reminded of one of many Dreams she had been forced to endure not so many months ago. Arthur had appeared at the top of the stairs, a saving light in an otherwise dark place; she glanced behind her, half expecting to see the Point Man materialise a second time to rescue her. But, of course, she was being silly. This was _reality_. And in reality, she had to save herself.

'It's nothing I can't handle,' she muttered, looking back up at her kindly professor. 'Just some lingering remnants from a bad dream.'

Miles was silent for a long time. Ariadne could not help but wonder what he was thinking as he sat down in one of the seats next to her, pressed the tips of his fingers together, and balanced his chin on top of them. He seemed to be considering what to say next; whatever it was, she was sure she wouldn't like it.

'Ariadne, what you went through – what you _all _went through – was traumatic. There's no escaping that. Many would not have been able to come back from it at all, let alone unscathed. The remarkable feat that Arthur and Eames achieved in finding you, and then bringing you back, is something I would never have thought possible. The fact still remains that you nearly lost yourself down there – your memories, your entire being. It's only natural that some scars will remain – emotional, psychological, however you wish to see it.' He looked down at her, and in his eyes she thought she could see a glimmer – of pity? Sorrow? 'What you _cannot _do is bottle it up and try to fight it alone. Let it out. _Talk _to people about it. It's the only way to relieve the traumatic stress you are under. People seek help for such things all the time. You would not be the first, and certainly not the last.'

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at him, finally realising what he was getting at. Of all the suggestions she was expecting him to make, _this _was not one of them. If he _knew _how much pain it caused her merely implicating such a thing ... he would never ...

'Thank you, professor, but I don't need professional help. I'm not _ill_.'

'But you are!' he insisted, ignoring the defiant set of his protégée's jaw. 'You are – quite understandably, I might add – suffering from the awful experiences you have endured. Admitting such does not betray a weakness in you, Ariadne. It takes _strength _and _courage_ to do so, and is the first step on the way to recovery. Please, do not disregard what I have said. _Talk _to Arthur about it – talk to _anyone_. Just don't think you can solve it on your own. This isn't one of my mazes that you can beat single-handedly with hardly any effort. This is _serious_, and you need to treat it as such.'

Ariadne stood up and grabbed her bag from the floor, pretending not to have heard a word he had said. The truth was, she had listened to _everything_, and found herself reluctantly agreeing with it all. That was what scared her the most.

'Thank you, professor,' she said coldly, staring at the board in front of her rather than meet his gaze. 'I'll have the next assignment in for you by the weekend.'

'Ariadne...'

'Goodbye.'

She left him sitting in the same seat as she stalked out of the dingy room, willing her feet not to run. Her heart thumped violently in her chest, her eyes stung with the onset of hot tears. She thought she heard someone call out her name as she strode down the narrow corridors towards the nearest toilet, but did not bother to turn around to find out. Turning the corner sharply, she shoved the bathroom door open with such force it slammed against the wall and flung shut again.

_I will not cry, I will _not _cry, _she scolded herself as she slumped onto the toilet lid and kicked the door shut. She took several long, deep breaths, squeezing her eyes shut and imagining her 'happy place' – a cool, spring afternoon in a garden overgrown with beautiful, multi-coloured flowers. Just like the one she had visited as a child with her family. All kinds of birds chirped and sang in nearby trees. The sound of gently trickling water caressed her ears as it cut a wet path through the greenery. The smell of freshly-cut grass drifted on the breeze as she lay under the sun, basking in its warm rays.

It was corny, she knew, but it worked. Whenever she felt ready to explode with anger, or burst into tears, she forced herself to think of that garden and peace settled upon her once again. Usually. How odd it was that the place she felt happiest was so similar to Arthur's.

_Arthur._

She felt a pang of guilt as she thought of him. He had been a rock the past few months, knowing what she was suffering and yet never pushing her to talk to him about it. He bore the burden of her pain silence, as though he were enduring it by proxy. And she repaid him by clamming up and refusing to let him in. After all he had done for her...

Was Miles right? Should she share the problem? _A problem shared..._

Yes, of course he was. But that still didn't compel her to do so. She knew what he would suggest, just the same as her professor – professional help. Lying on a couch talking to a psychiatrist who nodded along and probed into her personal life as they scribbled down worrying notes on a clipboard. She didn't _want _to lay her herself bare to a stranger. Besides, how on earth was she supposed to explain the cause of her suffering? _I think it's because I was dropped into unconstructed dreamspace and nearly lost my whole identity and memories. Oh, but don't worry, my boyfriend 'killed' the guy who was responsible by trapping him in a Dream forever._ Like _that _wouldn't land her in a mental institution where she would be further prodded and poked and asked strange questions relating to her sanity.

No, she was determined – she would _not_ seek that kind of help, no matter how bad it got. She would look for other alternatives, ones that were much more private and comforting. It wasn't like her family had a great history with psychiatric help, anyway. _It didn't do grandpa much good, _she thought bitterly. All those hours chattering away to a lady who pretended to care, discussing the awful memories of the war, his friends being blown apart by grenades and mortars, having to shoot his comrade in the head rather than let him drown in the gas. And where did he end up? Hanging from the staircase in her grandparents' two-storey house in the suburbs, with a scrap piece of paper left behind for his wife that just said: 'Sorry'. That was it. Grandma had poured their entire savings into getting him the help he needed to recover, and it was all for nothing. The family still hadn't recovered from the shock, the raw grief his decision had caused them. And probably never would.

A small vibration in her jeans pocket made Ariadne jump so violently she nearly toppled off the toilet seat. Only as she pulled out her phone did she hear someone pull the flush in the cubicle next to hers, and she prayed she had not been muttering to herself as she had been sitting there. _One more person that would think I'm going crazy..._

She read the message, only eight words long: _**Where are you? I've got a surprise. A x**_

The corner of her mouth curved into a small smile as she noted the kiss at the end of the text. It had taken Arthur weeks to use them (after no small amount of encouragement from her own that regularly numbered five or more – purely as a not-so-subtle hint). Yet he had been willing to change, for her. It was the small gestures that made her love him even more.

Patting her cheeks to make sure no stray tears had escaped, Ariadne grabbed her bag again and hurried out of the toilets towards the university's grand entrance hall. She hardly noticed the things that had once captured her full attention: the ornate stained-glass window above the grandiose, mahogany double-doors, the large bronze bust of the university's founder, Monsieur Remy, nor the intricate floor-mosaic with the Latin motto set in huge blue letters: _Praestantiae Studere_. _To strive for excellence ..._ that was what she had always done, and always hoped to do. But how to do so when she felt as though she were drowning in a sea of troubles – that even the night-time could not quell? She pushed the thought aside as she stepped out into the welcoming sunlight, breathing in the fresh air as though it were the first time she had tasted oxygen. It was a welcome relief after the hours spent cooped up in the cheerless lecture theatre.

Welcome, too, was the sight of her Point Man casually leaning against a lamppost just outside the entrance, his arms folded across his chest. The same place he had been every day for the past three months. It never failed to bring a smile to her face.

'Sorry, Miles wanted to tell me something before I left. I completely forgot the time.'

Her heart twinged with the lie – well, _lie _was a strong word. More...a bending of the truth. He _had _wanted to speak, and she _had _forgotten about Arthur standing outside in her flustered state. Still, it never felt right, twisting the truth with him. She wondered if he was ever fooled by it.

'It's okay,' Arthur replied as he pulled her into a quick embrace.

Ariadne thought she saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly as he pulled away and examined her properly. _Like I'm data on a page that he's not happy with,_ she thought before she could stop herself. She was grateful she hadn't voiced it out loud. How ungrateful it would seem...

'So, what's this surprise you mentioned?' she said, a little _too _brightly. 'It better be something nice to eat, because I'm starving!'

'Close, but no cigar.'

Ariadne started at the sound of an all-too-familiar British drawl from behind her, and spun around to find herself face-to-bearded-face with none other than Robert (_Hilary _– she stifled the snort) Eames.

'Oh my God!' she exclaimed as she flung her arms around his neck. 'What are you _doing _here?'

_Déjà vu ... _an image of the last time she had asked such a question flooded her mind, along with the picture of a swanky black car, a bouquet of flowers, and three gravestones...

'It's nice to see you too, darling,' the Forger chuckled. 'I felt like doing some sightseeing, and where better than the most romantic city in the world? Just a shame I don't have a lovely lady to share it with.'

She smirked at the wink he sent her and quickly checked for Arthur's reaction. He appeared oblivious to the exchange – _appeared _being the key word. She knew as well as anyone, Arthur never missed _anything_. No small detail escaped his eagle-eyed notice. The thought made her stomach squirm.

'I thought we could go out for something to eat and have a catch-up,' Eames continued, still looking at Ariadne. 'My treat.'

As if on cue, Ariadne's stomach gurgled. She quickly smothered it with her hand as her cheeks flushed pink.

'I don't think I could say no to that,' she murmured.

'Good,' Eames beamed as Arthur hailed a passing taxi. 'Because I have a proposition to make.'


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello all! I know...it's been more than two years since I updated this. How time has flown! I was sitting here tonight, pondering the workload I have, when I suddenly had the urge to continue with the story. As such, I apologise again if the chapter seems disjointed somehow, or if the characters are not as appropriate as they were before. It might take me some time to get back into the habit of writing them, so do bear with me. :) I will try my best to finish this story sooner than the next two years!**

**For now...I hope you enjoy the next tentative installment.**

**9.**

They spent the majority of the journey happily chatting about inane topics: the weather in Paris compared to England; the attractiveness of the French language; how dreadful non-English tea was (this last an earnest rant from Eames). Then again, 'they' wasn't quite right - Eames did most of the talking with Ariadne chipping in with her own thoughts, whilst Arthur simply watched the exchange with a notable lack of humour despite the ridiculousness of the conversation. He may have thought that Ariadne would not notice, but after months alone in his company, she had learned to _spot the details_. Given the present company, and the fact that she knew he would dismiss her concern, she chose to say nothing. For once.

'Voilà,' the taxi driver said as they pulled up outside a swanky-looking restaurant in the heart of Paris. 'C'est quinze euros, s'il vous plait.'

Before anyone could move, Arthur had leant over and pushed a twenty euro note into the man's hand. 'Merci beaucoup. Gardez la monnaie, monsieur.'

Ariadne couldn't help the tingle at the back of her neck as she listened to Arthur's near-perfect French enunciation; despite studying in the country for months and hearing hundreds of native French speakers, she had never truly understood the romance behind the accent until recently. Evidently Eames had noticed the almost imperceptible smile that had crept onto her lips, judging by the wink he sent her way. She wisely ignored it and followed Arthur out of the vehicle.

It was only once her eyes had settled on the glass-fronted exterior that she realised where they were: 'Spring', Paris's hot new restaurant headed by a young, exuberant American chef. More than once had she caught the word on the lips of self-important, beaming Parisian hot-shots as she made her way to college. To think she was finally going to be able to eat a meal here...thank God Eames had insisted on going back to her apartment to change into more suitable attire.

'Eames?' she asked, not entirely sure what her question was.

That fact was unnecessary, however, as he simply smiled over at her. 'I have friends in high places,' he smirked.

Ariadne nodded dumbly, accepting his reason to her unspoken question without further comment. It very soon became apparent who this 'friend' was: the greeter on the door, who immediately grasped the Forger's hand in greeting and ushered them in. What hit her first was the sound of excited babble from the rows of tables opposite the bar; people gossiped gaily, sipping the finest wine and gorging on the most expensive cuisine Paris had to offer. Looking at the diamonds glittering on the ears, neck and wrists of many of the women there, Ariadne felt uncomfortably out of place despite the hefty fortune she had sitting in her bank account.

'Mademoiselle,' the waiter said, gesturing for her to sit down in the chair he had gallantly pulled out for her.

'Thank you,' she murmured, forgetting her French in her slightly bewildered state.

Once menus had been tipped into their waiting hands and the waiter had retired to allow them a few minutes to choose, Ariadne fixed the Brit opposite her with a sceptical look.

'What?' he replied, shrugging. 'I helped his family out once.'

'Uh huh.'

Eames offered no more explanation, and Ariadne didn't bother to pry; she was instead reminded of his final words before leaving her college, and forgot all about her cynicism in her eagerness to know what he had meant.

'Oh, that?' he said, shooting Arthur a lightning quick glance which Ariadne failed to miss. 'It wasn't a proposition, as such. I knew you wouldn't say no to eating here.'

His cheeky grin did nothing to allay Ariadne's urgent curiosity; further probing was only avoided by the reappearance of the waiter asking for their drinks order. Impatiently, she agreed to a glass of champagne (the price of which completely eluded her) and resumed her grilling of the Forger.

'I swear by our beloved Queen Lizzy that I meant nothing else by it,' he insisted, holding up three fingers on his right hand as he crossed his heart with the other. 'If I'm lying, you have my permission to dunk me in an ice cold bath and take a picture.'

'I would, if I wasn't so sure you'd enjoy it,' Ariadne muttered, much to Eames' amusement.

Knowing she would get nothing more from him, she instead swivelled her head to look at her boyfriend; Arthur simply shook his head.

'I knew nothing about this,' he said.

Was it just her, or did his jaw clench after he had finished speaking? Did he pick up his drink a little too quickly? Or was she simply imagining what she wanted to see? With a sigh, she reluctantly let the topic drop and took a sip of her own exquisite beverage. Whatever was up, they weren't going to tell her tonight, it seemed.

**-/-**

An hour later, Ariadne arranged her cutlery on her now-empty plate and licked her lips with satisfaction. The meal had been delicious so far, and there was still one course to go; she secretly commended Eames on his choice of dining and thanked the waiter's family for their need of assistance that had enabled them to eat there tonight. Conversation had flowed easily between them after the hesitant beginning, yet the sense that they were withholding information from her had only increased as the night wore on. Arthur's apparent decision to say very little to either of them had not escaped her notice, either. She would have put it down to Eames' presence breaking the usual comfortable rapport between them, but for the small telltale signs she had learned to pick up on over the months. He had been quiet since they had left her apartment, a fact she had observed when she had first walked out of her bedroom to find him staring out of the living room window, deep in thought. Eames had been watching his brooding in silence, a slight frown creasing his brow; this had disappeared the moment he saw her, yet she knew she had seen it.

Just then, inspiration struck. If she could not wheedle the information out of them through dagger-like looks, she could at least ascertain if her concerns were well-founded. Standing up, she answered Arthur's unspoken question with a quick 'Ladies' room'. He gave her hand a brief squeeze as he nodded, before returning his attention to Eames. Ariadne made a show of turning back to smile as she reached the archway that led to the corridor housing the toilet facilities, but stopped short of rounding the corner. Instead, she counted to ten in her head, then slowly peered around the cream-coloured wall to where her two companions were sitting. Neither one was looking at her; they were seemingly deep in conversation, Eames leaning closer to Arthur to say a few words as the Point Man shook his head over and over. Whatever Eames was asking, his requests appeared to be become more insistent; almost unconsciously, he was waving his hand back and forth in a gesture of impatience. Arthur simply started straight ahead, as though looking past his friend to something nobody else could see. Though she could not see his face from this angle, she knew the expression it would hold: pained, almost distant, as though he were only half-present in the restaurant. It made her want to return as quickly as possible, to quieten whatever was making him uneasy.

But she didn't. She stayed where she was, ignoring the confused looks she was receiving from the waiters as they walked back and forth to the kitchen. More than she wanted to comfort Arthur, she wanted to know what the two men were hiding from her.

After all, she never backed down from a challenge. And one had most definitely presented itself to her tonight.

She would find out what they were plotting, one way or another.


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

Arthur sat waiting impatiently for Ariadne to return from the toilet, all the while trying to ignore his friend's increasingly fervent appeals to listen to his idea. It wasn't a bad one; in fact, quite the opposite: Arthur could see the logic behind the proposal, and knew it was one of the only options open to them. Yet he couldn't bring himself to deceive Ariadne, to go behind her back and dig through her most private thoughts and dreams, even if it was for her benefit. If she wanted his help, she would ask. As for the dishonesty...well, he knew her too well by now to judge how she would react to that. The very thought brought back memories of the last time he had kept information from her, albeit inadvertently. That had ended with the hotel door being slammed in his face and her eventual kidnap as she tried to go off alone. There was no he would allow _that_ to happen again.

'Arthur, I understand your objections, but what other option do you have?'

Eames' clipped tones cut through his spiralling thoughts and focused his attention back on the rather one-sided conversation. It was then Arthur became aware that he had simply been shaking his head the entire time without even realising what he was doing.

'I can't,' he said shortly. 'I _won't_ betray her trust.'

'And if the dreams don't stop? If they get worse?'

'Then I'll figure it out then.'

The Forger sat back in his chair with a shrug and a heavy sigh, apparently accepting defeat. For the moment, at least. His timing was perfect, for at that moment Ariadne reappeared; she dropped into her chair, running her fingers lightly across Arthur's arm as she did so.

'And just what were you boys talking about to make you look so excited?' she asked, addressing her question to Eames but with a sideward glance at Arthur, too.

'We can't tell you that,' Eames said with a grin, as usual adopting a completely different behaviour in the blink of an eye. 'It's a surprise.'

Arthur shot him look that needed no translation: _What the hell are you doing?_ If he so much as breathed a word of his plan...

'You should know by now how much I _hate _surprises,' she grumbled.

Arthur certainly didn't need reminding; he knew firsthand how persistent she was when she wanted to wheedle information out of someone. This time, though, he couldn't afford to cave in. He couldn't bear to face the fallout should she figure out what Eames had suggested.

'Patience, my dear, is a virtue,' Eames smiled, apparently unwittingly using Arthur's own words against Ariadne.

'Look who's talking,' Ariadne retorted; she, at least, had clearly not missed the irony. 'Fine. Be mysterious if you must.'

Both men struggled to hide their surprise at her surrender, their eyebrows raising almost in unison. _She never gives up that easily,_ Arthur thought, frowning. _What's going through her mind, I wonder?_ Whatever it was, she wasn't giving it away through her expression; it was as impassive a look as Arthur himself had ever managed to muster. He was, he admitted secretly, rather impressed. Either she was formulating a more discrete plan to disarm them, or she had undergone a personality transformation and accepted that, sometimes, things were best left alone. He hoped rather than genuinely believed it was the latter.

**-/-**

Another hour slipped by in perfect harmony, with no more grumbling from Ariadne nor cryptic quips from Eames. Soon it was time for them to leave, and Arthur found he was glad to be away from the babbling crowd and back in the pokey studio flat he now called home. The three friends spent another half hour catching up on what they had been up to in the past four months (Eames was decidedly vague about certain details, which only served to pique the others' interest more) before the Forger stood up, stretched rather elaborately and declared it was past his bedtime. With a pointed look at Arthur over Ariadne's shoulder as he drew her into a bear hug, he bid them goodnight and took his leave. Despite his relief, Arthur felt a now-familiar sense of dread descend upon him when Ariadne wandered into the bathroom to get changed into her nightclothes.

Countless questions chased each other around in his mind, but, always, one in particular stood out: would it happen again tonight?

Another disturbed night would make it three in a row: the most she had ever suffered in succession. All he could do was cling to the hope that it would resolve itself somehow. Otherwise...

'Done,' Ariadne's voice preceded her exit from the bathroom, now sporting nothing but a pair of Arthur's boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

Even in his present state of mind, Arthur couldn't help but smile at the sight; the underwear certainly looked better on _her _than it ever had done on him, although she was inclined to disagree. Her casual was one thing he loved about her. It was completely at odds with his own pristine clothing, and the sight of them together often drew curious looks from other passers-by. It was one of many points in which they differed, and yet he was constantly surprised by how similar they were in other aspects: stubbornness, a complete refusal to give in, being just two of them.

Without realising what he was doing, Arthur smirked, shook his head, and went into the bathroom to change himself. He was oblivious to the confused frown on the Architect's face as he passed.

**-/-**

As per usual, Arthur lay awake long after Ariadne had fallen asleep. Hands behind his head, he stared up at the stuccoed ceiling, his eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness of the room. Lost as he was in his own thoughts, he still retained an almost animal-like awareness of his surroundings; the slightest stir from Ariadne was enough to make him whip around to check on her. So far, however, she had passed an uneventful night.

Uneventful, that was, until precisely 2.34am.

First the slight murmurs started; then the kicking began, the struggle with the duvet; finally, a shrill, heart-rending scream split the night air. Arthur leapt up in bed and bent over the flailing figure of his girlfriend, apparently locked in another battle with her subconscious. His hand hovered over her shoulder as he weighed up his choice: wake her up and disorient her, yet save her from the nightmare, or leave her to free herself from the torment? He knew the potential effects of dragging someone out of a particularly traumatising nightmare; should he risk them?

As sobs racked her body, pale and small in the dim light from the streetlamp outside the window, a single cry rent Arthur's heart: 'Arthur...please...help me...'

Without further hesitation, Arthur made up his mind. Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, he punched in two words that would alter his near-future forever: _**I'm in.**_

**A/N: I think I should be a cheesy thriller writer! All this angst and these cliff-hangers...well, hopefully they're doing their job and keeping you wondering, at any rate. :)**

**The story now will finally pick up and head in the intended direction, so stay tuned! I hope to see you all soon for the next installment.**


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